


Telepathic Hearts

by vampirepunks



Series: Shadow Needing Light [1]
Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: 5 Things, Accidental Plot, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst and Tragedy, Beta-read, Bittersweet Ending, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Codependency, Companionable Snark, Cyberpunk 2077 Slang, Cyberpunk 2077 Spoilers, During Canon, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Love Languages, Nomad V (Cyberpunk 2077), Non-Linear Narrative, Slow Burn, Soft Johnny Silverhand, Temperance Ending, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:08:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28574268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vampirepunks/pseuds/vampirepunks
Summary: Johnny and V + the five love languagesOR five times Johnny Silverhand fell in love with V.
Relationships: Johnny Silverhand/V
Series: Shadow Needing Light [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2111964
Comments: 45
Kudos: 217





	1. Quality Time

**Author's Note:**

> What was supposed to be a soft “five things” fic turned into a set-up piece for a post-canon longfic ^_−☆
> 
> Update: Now beta-read and edited! Here goes a huge thank you to the lovely [EclipseBorn!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EclipseBorn) for working with me to bring this fic to its best 💖

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timestamp: Playing For Time, Heroes, Losing My Religion, and Beat On The Brat: The Glen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quality time seemed to be the perfect place to start, because these two sure don't lack for that ;)

He wakes up with a gasp and a shudder. Teeth clench, his mind thrashing at the seams of his existence like a feral dog in a cage. The weight of his own death is burned into his core, taunting him. There's a call in the dark that says, _you shouldn’t be here_. He’s Lazarus rising from the depths of the grave, Lucifer falling from the heights of heaven...

Johnny's mind touches another. Foreign memories cascade over him, old and fresh alike. The sea of emotions accompanying them drags him into the undertow, as waves of raw feeling crashing into him. It’s merciless. For a moment, he crumbles under the very weight of it, drops to his knees. This mind is not his own. It screams heartaches, desires, fears, passions, and regrets into his ears. Pieces of this stranger’s life invade his senses, creep around his heart as barbed wire and piercing thorns. He only wants it to stop. 

He stands over her, asks “Who the fuck are you?” 

The stranger doesn’t answer, her face slack with sleep. 

The mattress is lumpy, stained with a faint smell of vending machine burritos. She stirs, and a few minutes later he’s touched by the sensation of cool bedsheets gliding against skin. It’s otherworldly, how vivid the feeling is. 

Fuck, he’ll kill her if that’s what it takes to make this _stop._ The grief lurking behind her closed eyes comes to him, its impression akin to breathing secondhand smoke into his lungs. He can’t tame the thrumming burn, so he stands, eyes scanning the apartment. Johnny’s gaze lands on a bathroom cabinet, a passable place to stash smokes, pills, _something_ that stands to offer relief. He grips it, but it doesn’t open, doesn’t budge under his touch. He cries out, slams his fist into the mirror. It doesn’t break, not even a quiver given from the glass in response. His fist rests against the surface, but he can’t feel it.

The stranger’s mind offers answers, letting him slowly piece things together. It hits him.

_Fifty-four fucking years._

He’s trying to touch a world that doesn’t know him; a world that doesn’t pay any mind to his existence. Rage washes through him, the familiar reflex seizing control. He rests against the wall, listens to the soft _thud, thud, thud_ as he raps his head against it, thoughts scrambling for a path of escape. 

Fast forward, two (or was it three?) days. The stranger has a name--V.

Johnny still thinks about her eyes the night this all began, how for a fleeting moment, he was the one to falter. He expected fear; here was this kid with one foot in the grave, her head half-drowned in grief... Yet, when he tried to break what was left of her, she gritted her teeth and looked up at him with such ferocity that he almost paused, just to take it in. Her mind had hurled the accompanying emotion at him, shaping it into a fine-point weapon. If that wasn’t enough to warrant rethinking his approach to the situation, she’d _laughed_ when he knocked her to the floor. Not a happy, amused laugh, but a dark rumble that rolled from her chest. V's teeth bared in a near sinister fashion as she refused to break his gaze. He saw then, who he was dealing with—someone with nothing left to lose, but who refuses to go gently into that good night. Her defiance earned her a measure of respect, but that laugh? That just has him damned curious.

So he takes a step back to figure out who this girl is, biding his time, watching her, eavesdropping on her thoughts, adjusting to life under shared skin, and taking in the reality of it all. 

Her memories paint an intriguing picture, bathed in dust and shadow. V's early life was about as normal and safe as it can get in this world--loving parents, three younger siblings, and a Nomad clan of almost fifty. It conjures with it a feeling so foreign, all warmth and familial bonds. The images of that life are eclipsed by loss and strife, something he does understand. As idyllic as her old world seems in her mind, the part that interests him is the sense of boredom and emptiness carved between the lines. She wanted more, craved a bigger adventure and a wilder path. When she broke away, she ached for the loss of family, but there was a hunger too, a consuming lust for the open path ahead. That hope has died and rebirthed itself as despair. Johnny almost feels sorry for her, before he remembers she’s the one standing in his way. V is his cage, her emotions and perceptions crowding around his own like prison bars. Her mind suffocates his, and in turn, his code consumes her. Greek tragedy has nothing on them, or rather, wouldn’t, if the situation wasn’t so fucking pathetic. 

V’s mind fights him more and more as she builds walls up against him. She leaves him grasping at thin air when he brushes against the memories, feelings, thoughts, and morsels of information that she holds closest to herself. She clutches tight and refuses to let him touch them. 

But Jackie Welles... She can’t seem to keep that from him, though she tries. The omega blockers wear off before the _ofrenda,_ but he avoids making his presence known. The pills’ effects are like sleep, at first, but as they ebb down, it’s more akin to sitting in a dark room alone, hearing voices in a distant hallway. Sometimes a feeling from the physical world slips through--a smell, a touch, some little piece with no context--similar to water dripping from a leaky ceiling. That darkness unsettles him something awful, so he’s not too keen on starting over. 

Thus, Johnny remains a silent passenger as V goes through the motions of the _ofrenda._ To the world, her face is stone, feigning composure for everyone else’s sake. She’s good at it too, but he's the one person here she can't lie to. He feels the throbbing ache in her chest. There’s a welt on the inside of her lip, arisen from days of anxious chewing. It stings, brushing against her teeth when she speaks. Today, she shows the world a calculated song and dance, though he knows she’s falling apart inside.

There comes a thought so loud it makes his ears ring. 

_I did this,_ her mind shrieks, _I should have saved him._

He sees Alt then, feels the weight of her death on his shoulders. And maybe in another life, in another place, in another situation… Well, maybe he’d put his hand on V’s shoulder and tell her that it isn’t her fault. Maybe she'd believe him, somehow. But this isn’t that life and it isn’t his place. 

That’s when he decides he doesn’t want V’s blood on his hands. Might as well make an effort to see if their goals align, to try and form some kind of fucked up symbiosis. That is, if she can settle down for five fucking seconds and stop trying to kick him out of her head. 

* * *

Time passes. It’s an endless cycle of one shitstorm after another. Yet, between the hard fights, somehow he and V find a rhythm. They take it one beat at a time until it starts to feel… well… _right,_ even if everything about their situation is so very wrong. After Hellman, things shift. V starts to soften to Johnny, accepting that this journey is going to be a long one.

She shows him a kindness he never bargained for, starts to listen, and asks for his opinions. Occasionally she takes his advice and counters some of his arguments with reason instead of judgment. She has a particular way of nodding her head as he speaks, a gentle tip to her chin and a spark of agreement in her eyes... Johnny grows fond of the mannerism. 

V’s patience falters when he says he’ll take her body if he needs it. He doesn’t quite mean it as a threat so much as a heated statement of his hell-bent purpose, but in the open air, it sounds like one. 

She glances to the blue pill bottle in her hand, brows low with contemplation. He waits, eyes locked on her. It’s her choice--will she cast him back into the dark? 

“We’re in this together, I guess,” she says, the slightest uptick of a smile playing at her lips. 

She tucks the pills into her bag. He hopes she doesn’t hear the sigh of relief rolling out of him. 

In that whisper of calm after the storm brewing in and around them, with the wind whistling around the Sunset Motel, it feels like this moment could last forever. 

V truly does perplex him at first, as her emotions and ethics start to seem as predictable as Russian roulette. She's a creature of dichotomy, her ethics a double-edged sword. Her heart rests on her sleeve half the time, with her better nature leaning toward empathy and warmth. She’s the type to sacrifice time she doesn’t have just because someone half-decent asked her to. Yet, in enemy territory, she’s a raging pyromaniac with a talent for explosives and the steady hand of an executioner. She chooses to spare a life as easily as she takes one, offers comfort to one person and venomous words to another. The pattern to the puzzle is something unknown to him. For a while, he thinks he may have a worthy contender for his place as the most mercurial person in Night City.

The first moment he feels he truly has her figured out is when she takes a room of Maelstrom gangoons down mercifully, just because a fuckin’ monk asked her not to shed any blood. He gives her shit for it, thinks she’s being a pushover, but she proves him wrong. She completes her rescue but stands silently in the room for nearly ten minutes after the rescued monk leaves. Statuesque, she waits, as though bracing for some grand mystery to reveal itself. 

Whatever she’s thinking, she holds it beyond Johnny’s reach. Without a flinch or hint of remorse, she draws her revolver. V moves through the room one lazy step after the other. Expressionless, she fires two rounds into each of the knocked-out borgs’ heads. 

“Why?” he asks, damn near speechless as he pops into her field of view. 

“Responsibility,” she says. “If there’s blood, it only belongs on the hands of people who choose to live with that. These monks? They have beliefs, traditions, _principles_ , and they asked me to respect that. If I didn’t honor it, how would I be any better than Maelstrom?” V pauses, her green eyes going cold as she looks at the corpse below her. “These fuckers deserved to die for what they did here, but the weight of that decision belongs to me, and only me. If I’d come in here blasting away, those two would feel like it was their fault, regardless of the truth. That’s not theirs to carry.” 

“So you’re protecting their innocence?” Johnny asks, with the rise of an eyebrow. 

V hums out, “Mhm. Something like that.” 

“Whatever innocence there is, this city gobbles it up. Stay here long enough, everyone’s hands get dirtied up eventually,” he pauses, toys with the projection of a cigarette even though it offers no relief, and adds, “But… Guess I respect that.”

She goes quiet, starts poking around for ammo, valuable tech, and eddies, as routine as always. He doesn’t smell the gunpowder and blood until after they’ve left. 

It gives him a lot to think about. Whatever Johnny takes from her little lesson, one thing is certain… Today, he finally knows who she is. She’s got a temper, sure, but it goes deeper than that. Her set of morals is complex, harsher than that of a Nomad, softer than Night City breeds into people. Takemura can ramble about honor all he wants, but if such a thing exists, V is the one that possesses it. 

Her approach to edgerunner life has him asking himself if his big mistake was refusing to calculate the cost of his actions. A couple weeks ago she’d tried to drive a point home by taking him to the memorial site for the ‘twenty-three attack. They read the names, saw the candles burning for lives long gone. He searched for malice in her actions and found none. Somehow, that made it harder. 

He’d only justified himself of the blame, saying, “We tried to warn these people. The bomb wasn’t meant for them.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” she’d said, “They still didn’t make it. And neither did you. If this is the cost, could it ever be worth it?” 

It only made him angry at the time, her point lost on him.

“If you’re trying to show me the error of my ways, trying to _fix_ me, you’re wasting your time, sunshine,” he’d snapped. 

And fuck, she’d smiled, said, “Fix you? Hell no. Said you wanted to know who you’re dealing with, so I’m showing you how I see things. Agree or not, understand, don’t understand, I couldn't give a fuck.”

Now he knows she was right, feels the gravity of it in his gut. He tries to reconcile his experiences of war with the things he’s seen through her eyes... The things he’s felt through her heart. There is no battle without collateral damage, but he’s beginning to see where he went wrong. V holds her hands open, never trying to deny the blood that stains them. He never had that grace, chose to run from it instead. He still does because it’s all he knows. 

* * *

Johnny tuned out of the situation for V's first two street brawls, opting that he’d rather sift through some of her more interesting memories. He’ll never admit to how often he does that, or how it makes him feel. 

Sea shanties sung around a campfire beneath a sky that actually had stars, the adrenaline rush of convoy chases coupled with the smell of the desert dust the tires kicked up, the sound of laundry lines snapping around in the wind before a storm… The feeling V had when she sat in her mother’s lap, enveloped in her arms as a child that knew only freedom and family. It takes him back to a time when he’d lost himself, and it’d felt _good_ to be someone else for a couple years. He talks smack about the Aldecaldos, but it’s just bitterness concealing another one of his mistakes. If anything could have saved him from himself, anything at all… he wonders if it could have been that life. Maybe that was his one chance, and he’d thrown it away the minute he set foot back in Night City. 

V’s third fight catches his interest. She aches for a good old-fashioned fistfight before stepping back into the fray to prepare for the Arasaka parade. It’s a quick and dirty affair to release tension, especially after the debacle with the Voodoo Boys. Her opponent stakes everything on the fight, car and cash, a risky move when he’s got a kid bound to pop out any day now.

Cesar's loaded up on reflex boosters, eyes gone golden as the cybernetics kick in. Listening in on V’s thoughts, Johnny learns she never hits first. She likes to gauge her opponent’s MO and let a little pain kick her into action. 

_That’s gonna hurt later,_ he thinks, as she takes a solid blow to the mouth. And there it is again, that _laugh,_ hissed through her teeth as the pain sets in for her. Cesar’s next punch stutters as her crazed grin throws him off, and V takes the chance to turn things back on him. She’s small and lean, but has precious few soft places to be found, built instead of the kind of lithe muscle earned from a lifetime of frequent sprinting and hard work. She uses the maneuverability of her size to her advantage, her attacks made of focused precision. Cesar ain’t half bad, but his punches lack strategy. V, on the other hand, goes for vulnerable areas—ribs, sternum, and jaw. 

She keeps the guy chasing her as his style grows predictable. He gets a few good hits in because she lets him, but now she’s deep in it. She’s gone before he even realizes, dodging his attacks in a way that leaves him striking at air as she ducks low to his sides. He leaves himself open after a rush move like that, and she wears him down fast. It doesn’t take long before she gets a solid uppercut to his diaphragm. She could finish the fight right here, but she drags it out, wants it to _last._ It makes Johnny wonder if this is how she likes it in bed too; a little pain, all precision and aggression, drawing it out in an almost cruel way… The thought is a little too enticing, so he shakes it from his mind before she catches hold of it. As the Relic’s infection has progressed, she’s been able to read him more and more. Sharing thoughts, emotions—the vulnerability that comes on the receiving end of that makes him squirm. 

“Johnny?” she asks, panting. “I don’t know what the hell is running through your head but _quit it._ Trying to focus here.” 

_Shiiit._

He feigns ignorance. “Hey, you’re the one getting off on this shit. I’m just a victim of the feedback loop, ‘member?” 

“Right,” she sighs defeatedly. “My bad.” 

_Fucking shit,_ now he kinda feels bad. Sometimes they find it hard to tell where an emotion originates, from within him or her. There’s a sting of guilt in taking advantage of that. 

Cesar gets to catch his breath, and once again, by the time he lunges, V’s not there anymore. It’s a dance to her, brutal and delicate all at once. She moves like the beat of a drum, _one-two,_ she steps out of his grasp, _three-four,_ she bears down on him. It goes on like this for a while, until she takes an uppercut to the jaw and staggers back. 

“Come on, V, you’ve got this!” Johnny pitches in. “Stay on your feet!” 

Johnny’s fully invested now and _dammit_ he wants her to win, anticipating the rush of glory and adrenaline in her veins with bated breath. V spits blood and gets her footing back right as the next punch comes and she stumbles forward to counter the blow. Cesar is burning out fast now, sweat-stained and breathing hard. 

“This is your chance, right to the face, finish him!” 

And she does, dealing an uppercut so hard she almost falls forward. Cesar goes right down, staggering back and falling to the ground. V lets out a sighed laugh that soon turns to a frown when the guy's pregnant wife starts shouting. After he’s pulled himself together to offer the winnings, V shakes her head at the offer. With a pat on the shoulder, she lets him keep it all, and tells him not to lose what he has left. 

On the ride back to the apartment, Johnny asks, “You were never planning to collect, were you?” 

“Nope. I took his pride, and that’s enough. Maybe without it, he’ll learn not to risk the most important things.” 

“Here’s hoping,” he hums. 

When the pain starts to hit, he retreats from her sight, back to the safety of her mind so he won’t show it. 

At home, she soaks a washcloth in rubbing alcohol and sets to work on cleaning herself up. There’s a dark bruise spreading across the apex of her cheekbone, just below her eye. She'd bitten down when she took that hit to the jaw, and her bottom lip and eyebrow are both split something nasty. Gazing into the mirror, V winces as she presses the cloth to her lip. As she leans forward against the sink, muscles aching with fatigue, something sparks in his chest. It’s an odd sensation, like pleasure and pain, satisfaction and emptiness, pride and defeat. At first, he thinks the feeling is hers, but the emotion is too sharp. It’s if he’s just surrendered to something, but he doesn’t quite know what.

There’s a woeful, hollow note in Johnny's core as he curses the confines of existing in her headspace. He thinks of how it might feel if it weren’t like this... of how he could sit V down, run a hand across her bruised cheek, take it slow and easy cleaning her up, smile and say he’s proud… And that’s when he knows. There’s a quiet panic as he identifies the feeling, and he presses that shit down _hard,_ trying desperately to keep it out of her grasp.

Johnny Silverhand: first among fools. 

Fuck… The girl that laughs in the middle of a fistfight, the girl that’s content to walk away with nothing but bruises and victory, the girl that does it all for the love of the fight, the ruthless street merc with a heart of gold… Who wouldn’t fall in love with that girl?

~*~*~*~

_"And if I had my way_  
 _I would run to the rescue_  
 _It never works that way when_ _you call a bluff_

_Oh, all the fools rush in_   
_It's a battle to surround you_   
_And all the fools want in_   
_But I'm not giving up"_


	2. Gift Giving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timestamp: Post-A Like Supreme, pre-Nocturne OP55N1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Star-crossed almost-lovers, anyone? 👀

Tobacco smoke wisps around V’s hand. A strand of hair hangs in her face so perfectly placed that it’s like a painter put it there. Smoke flows out of her plush lips, eyebrows drawn tight in focus. Captured in the cool lighting of the armory, she is a work of art. 

She was hesitant to start smoking again, said returning to a bad habit felt like failure, but she’s well over her qualms about it now. She’s on her third cigarette of the afternoon, and Johnny’s starting to feel the rush of nicotine he was suspended in anticipation for. He lets out a relieved sigh as he relaxes a bit more on the edge of the table. He’s crowding her workspace, but she doesn’t seem to mind, elbow skimming against his knee every few minutes. Personal space has become a minuscule concern lately. 

“Remember to switch off the smoke detector?” he asks, fanning his hand at the smoky room. 

“Oh fuck.” 

V snuffs out her cigarette on the ashtray and sets down the knife she was sharpening. She exits the room for a moment to disable the detector. When she returns, her hair is tucked behind her ear. It’s a shame, the misplaced strand framed her face in such a lovely way... 

“S’pose it’s for the best, I’m ‘bout to start working on your gun anyway. Hot ash and gunpowder don’t get along too well.” 

Johnny perks up a bit, stowing his knee-jerk instinct to tell her not to fuck up his iron. Simple fact is, he trusts her with it. Which is a big deal, considering this girl is a menace to her guns. She keeps a heap of maintenance gear, but it’s used almost exclusively for her knife and various quick-and-dirty weapon fixes. When it comes to guns, it feels like she carries a different piece every week, burning through them and casting them aside like broken toys. It’s a surprising habit, considering nomads squeeze every last bit of gear to their limits. She justifies it by saying she could fix them if she _wanted_ to, but she can always grab a new one off some gonk’s corpse after the dust settles on a gig. And while she isn’t wrong, she lacks an appreciation for quality. Carrying his Malorian though, there’s a quiet respect--reverence, almost. She doesn’t lack for due diligence when she thinks it matters. Hell, Jackie’s set of pistols has stayed on the armory wall since the _ofrenda_. She’d cleaned them and put them away, swearing she’d only use them if it was life or death. 

V turns her blade in her hands, polishing the edge after sharpening it. It’s the knife she keeps tucked in her boot, compact but sharp, useful in a pinch. That knife, her hat, and those cowboy boots were about the only possessions she’s treated with care for ages, ravaging through her other gear like nothing could ever be sacred. Her tune has changed more and more over time as she's gained items of sentiment. It isn’t lost on him that most of those items once belonged to him. The tags he gave her stay on her neck twenty-four-seven, his handgun sits in a holster on her side, the replica of his jacket sits safely on a hook by her desk, she spends time under the hood of his Porsche ensuring nothing is out of sorts... She’s slowly filled her life with pieces of him, holding them close to her like they’re precious gifts. Thinking too hard about it has a tendency to send him reeling. 

His favorite piece to this mosaic they’ve become is the old Samurai tank top she fished out of his cubby at the Pistis Sophia. 

“Fifty-something years, since you’ve worn this…” she had whispered, holding the dirty fabric in her hands. 

“Yeah, don’t remind me,” he’d said, feeling the sting of it. 

He’ll never forget how she smiled at him as she clutched the shirt to her chest. 

“Think I’ll bring some tradition back… if that’s okay with you.” 

He couldn’t stop himself smiling back as he nodded, said, “Just wash it first. Fifty years of dust on that thing, you’ll catch something.” 

Seems like it’s all she wears now. It doesn’t fit right, clings to her tits, hangs loose around her waist, but he’s damned if it isn’t the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, for far more than just the aesthetic value. These little pieces draw her closer and closer to him, like tugs on a rope pulling them together. That rope gets shorter constantly, like one day they’ll crash into one another… Like maybe, maybe, _maybe_ he won’t run from the one good thing he has, possibly the only _real_ thing he’s ever had. But he knows that’s a comfortable lie he tells himself, because this, them? They were doomed from the moment they took their first breath together, and if things don’t pan out, they’ll share their last too. 

He’s a part of her life now, neither of them has any say in that. It’s the ways she _chooses_ to put him there that has his heart jammed into a vice. The taste of this silent love is like liberation, it feels… 

_Would you take a bullet for me?_

_I… would, yeah._

Fuck, it feels like free-falling with nothing to grab onto. Like she’s pulling him under, like he never had a choice with her, like his one job in life is to be the man that saved hers. He wonders if she’ll keep these pieces of him when he’s gone… If she’ll miss him. 

She yanks him back into the moment with a gentle, “Hey, Johnny?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Got something bothering you.” 

It’s a statement, not a question. She always knows. 

“It’s nothin’. Just…” 

He gropes for an excuse, some little ‘nothing’ to pull in defense. 

She makes a tender swipe of the cloth against the gun’s barrel and sets it down to turn toward him. 

“Tell me,” she says, voice soft. 

He can’t lie to that. 

“Just… thinking how far we’ve come,” he sighs. “Me smacking you around, you screaming that you’d kill me first, the constant war after that… Guess that part’s over, huh?”

“Yeah,” she breathes. “Guess it is. Y’know, thought we covered this… in the oil field. Still thinking about it?” 

“Guess so. Kind of a memorable topic, seeing how we’re headed off to set things up with Hanako soon.” 

“Right. Soon,” she says. “Soon.” 

She’s getting antsy at the mention of it. A hint of adrenaline buzzes under her skin. She’s been putting it off hard, weathering through Relic malfunctions, taking any gig that offers an excuse not to go yet. 

“Can’t wait forever, V,” he says. 

“I know, Johnny. Just a few more days, promise.” 

Time is running out on them and neither one of them wants to face it. He gets it, but if she doesn’t call Hanako soon, he’s going to have to give her a push. If the Relic takes her out once and for all, it’s curtains on them both. He’s past the desperation to save his own skin, but the thought of her dying in this apartment or out on the streets of Night City terrifies him more than anything else. He won’t let it come to that, even if it means dragging her the whole way himself. 

* * *

Sleep comes easy for both of them tonight, worn out as V is. The Relic’s effects are starting to reach into the long-term, manifesting into fatigue, muscle pain, nausea, and headaches. 

When she dreams, he dreams with her. He’s her constant passenger, riding along as V relives silhouettes of his memories. Tonight, it’s the desert sun on his face, the vainglorious elation that came with a successful convoy job, the highs and lows of tentative brotherhood with the Aldecaldos of yesteryear. There’s no warning as the dream shifts into the back of a cab. It’s clearer, more concise than a dream, and he’s no stranger to this memory of hers. Sticky blood on her face, the Relic glimmering between Jackie’s fingers as he passed it to V. He’s seen this before. As a dream, it’s all more intense, the voices garbled and eclipsed by emotion. 

_Mr. Welles’ remains, where shall I take them?_

The sentence seems to repeat a thousand times, echoing around the cab, growing more sinister on each repeat. 

A hand seizes his shoulder. 

“Fuckin’ major leagues, _chica.”_

“No, no--” he says, but it’s not his voice, it’s hers. 

Jackie’s lifeless body sits up, a sick, contorted smile drawing up his colorless lips. 

“You should have been the one to decomish back there,” he taunts. “Little miss nobody Lavender Grissom, the lucky one. I had a family. Who did you have? Motherfuckin' nobody! Oh, boo-hoo, poor me, Jackie, I’m a lost little nomad who’s all alone and my people don't want me anymore! _It should have been you!”_

Jackie’s hand is around his throat now. 

Again, it isn’t his voice when he speaks. Neither the words nor this nightmare belong to him, but it feels too real. He can feel the fear, the guilt of it. 

“I know, Jack, it should have. It. Should. Have. Been. Me. I’m… I’m so sorr--” 

The hand tightens. “Sorry? _You’re goddamn sorry?!”_

The inside of the cab shrinks, the walls pressing in on them, and Johnny can’t breathe beneath the crushing grip of Jackie’s hand. 

“And look at you now. Slutting around with the ghost of ol' Johnny Silverhand, like he could ever _care._ Having the time of your fucking life, and I hope he eats you alive, consumes you _until there’s nothing left of you to send to hell.”_

The hand squeezes harder and he’s yanked out of it all. 

The bedsheets are solid under his hands. He grasps for them, but he can't parse the grip because these aren’t his hands. 

“Fuck!” V screams. “F-fucking…” 

And he’s right there with her, without a thought or excuse, it’s just automatic. 

“Easy,” he says on a shuddering breath. 

She stammers out, “Did you--you see... you too?” 

“Yeah, everything.” 

He lets out a shaky sigh, glitches over to lean against the window. Night City drones on and on outside, never stopping, never sleeping. 

“Goddamned nightmares,” she says, reaching for her cigarettes. Her hand trembles as she lights one, the glow of the flame reflected in her eyes.

Johnny felt it, all of it, and the secondhand wave of emotion has him shaking too. He taps a beat against the glass with one finger, trying to get a grip.

V’s face turns to stone as she smokes, ashtray in her lap. She toys her dog tags between her fingers like they're an anchor. A long silence passes, a soft sizzle echoing as the cigarette is burned to the filter. She coughs a bit, snuffing it out in the tray. 

As she calms down, he does too. He begins to taste the tobacco smoke on her tongue, familiar, safe. 

“So…” he says tentatively, “Lavender, huh?” 

She’s kept her full name from him, reasonably so. His own name is a chosen one, so he can empathize with the hesitation to share an intimate detail like that. He’s unsure of even bringing it up, but he’s hoping it’ll pull her out of her head. 

She startles a little bit, but the hint of a smile crosses her lips after a moment. He’s relieved his attempt at lightening the mood worked, but he knows her, after all. 

“Yeaaah. It… It sucks, doesn’t it?” 

It’s too ostentatious for her, too feminine. V is the tomboyish, utilitarian type, doesn’t much have a taste for girly shit. She can’t stand having her nails long or painted, can’t walk in heels, makes nothing more than a half-hearted attempt at slapping on some messy eyeliner in the morning. The name conjures the image of some demure chick that does care about those things. No, his girl’s appetites lean toward cargo pants and cowboy boots, big guns, explosives, fast cars, old Western flicks… She has a significant soft side, but she’s not delicate enough to be named after a flower. 

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “It kinda does, V.” 

“My siblings don’t have it any better, either. My brothers are Aster and Indigo, and my sister’s name is _Foxglove._ ” 

“ _Sheesh_ ,” he says, sitting down next to her. “Your mom responsible for that?” 

“My dad, actually. See, before he split for the Bakkers, he was a botanist in New Mexico. A dying profession, he said, seeing as how you could only grow healthy plants in controlled conditions, and more’n half of them had to be bioengineered to make sure they survived.” 

“Why’d he leave?” Johnny asks. 

She sighs. 

“Said it was a hopeless life. Worked for some preservation society, was too broke to pay rent half the time. Eventually, he said he realized they were trying to save a world that didn’t want to be saved,” she explains.

Johnny nods with a hum, mulling it over. Every story is unique, but they all come back to the same problem: how do you learn to live in a world that’s going down the drain? 

“You don’t talk about them much, your family,” he says, leaning back against the wall. 

Her eyes drift away from his. She’s chewing her lip again, the same old bad habit. She does it when she’s trying to push her feelings down, skirting the emotion in hard topics--usually her own family and mortality, though the mention of Jackie sparks it too. 

“It still hurts, y’know?” she says. “Seems like it was all a lifetime ago, but really, it hasn't even been a year since I split off from the clan. My ma… She was so mad. Said if I drove away that day, I should just keep driving, never come back. I’m the oldest of four kids, so it was always my job to set an example, be the strong one. And when they decided I failed at that, well, fuck me, right? The Bakkers are in pieces now, I hear, some in Snake Nation, some went their way, some joined other clans. I don’t know what my family ended up doing. If they’re even still together… If they’re even…” 

Johnny finds himself putting a hand on her shoulder, giving an assuring nod. Every impulse in him screams at him to just run away now, but he fights it. For her. These moments of honesty, of intimacy and solidarity, they're valuable. So he lets her feel it, the warmth in him for this space they’ve learned to share. 

She doesn’t meet his eyes but softens into his touch. The knife’s edge to her thoughts softens a bit, giving way to his effort to offer some semblance of comfort. 

“Didn’t mean to bring all that back.” 

“It’s fine, Johnny,” she says, wiping a tear from her face. 

Fuck, when did she start crying? He wants to pull her close, wants to take her in his arms, he wants… 

But there’s this invisible barrier they’ve built up between them. It’s so thin now, but it’s the one thing protecting her from him. It’s better this way, best not to fracture their boundaries more than they already have. Their time at the Pistis Sophia, that gravesite, the recent days in the four walls of this apartment… It’s all been steps closer, walls crumbling down, trust taking hold. 

“Before the nightmare, I learned some interesting things about you. Had no idea you were ever an Aldecaldo,” she says. 

Now it’s his turn to show some vulnerability. It’s only fair, but fuck is it hard. Sharing the really personal shit practically defies his very nature, but with those big green eyes looking back at him, he has to try.

“Two years,” he says. “I was in a heap of trouble, corp closing in on my tail, so Santiago talked me into running off to the desert. Ended up getting a taste for it. Sometimes I wonder…” he stops, lets it trail off, doesn’t want to give it up. 

But he forgets she can read him like a book. 

“You wonder if you should have stayed.” 

It’s a punch right to the gut. 

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Maybe things would have been different.”

Maybe Santiago would still be alive. Maybe Johnny would still be alive. 

V seems to tune into that thought. She smiles and says, “Yeah, maybe we would’ve run into each other.”

He shakes his head at the sappy sentiment, “Sure, maybe.” 

“Come on, think about it. You as a grumpy old man, a goddamn senior citizen of the Aldecaldos, like the ancient wise man of the clan.” 

“Don’t hold back, now,” he deadpans. “Rogue and Kerry are still lookin’ preem as hell, right?” 

“Mhm, faces preserved by stacks of eddies. Not the kind of scratch nomads make.”

“Great to think about, thanks.” 

“Then don’t make it so fun,” she chuckles. 

A few minutes pass, taken up by a fragile peace of V inching steadily closer to him and an idle motion of his hand caressing up and down her shoulder.

“Hey, V?” 

“Yeah?” 

“About that nightmare…” 

She seizes up a bit and her gaze drops to the floor. It hurts to see, and hurts even more to actually feel. Her head fills with doubt, guilt, shame. She doesn’t say it, but he knows she still blames herself. 

He treads lightly, his voice low, “I do care.” 

It shouldn’t be hard to say, but it is. Communication was never his strong suit. It’s not his place to bring up Jackie, but he can reassure her of his own place in her world. 

“I know, Johnny,” she murmurs. “You know I do too.” 

He does know. He’s tried to question it, but she’s left him no room for doubt. 

Now’s time to play it cool again. 

“Yeah, sure, but you needed to hear it,” he says. 

She runs a thumb idly over her forearm and says, “Hey, but I’ve got the tattoo to prove it, remember?” 

His face flushes hot. He really, really tries not to think about that tattoo or his drunken reasoning behind it. But damn if he didn’t love seeing River Ward hesitate at the inked-on proclamation of _Johnny + V._ That almost made it worth the embarrassment. 

“You _hate_ that thing. Yelled at me for almost fifteen minutes,” Johnny says. 

“I’ve come to terms,” she says. “Maybe even grown to love it.” 

“You liar.” 

“I mean it!” she defends, the smile returning to her tear-stained face. “Actually, I kind of think of it as a gift. My ma always said not to turn your nose up at surprise ink, anyway.” 

“That’s some of the worst advice I’ve ever heard. How even...” 

“I know. Like, what’s the story there, right?” she says, laughing. “But I _cherish_ this thing now, fuck you very much.” 

“It certainly has… character, I’ll give it that. Drew it up myself, so you can brag about having an authentic Silverhand design.” 

V scoffs. “Like anyone will believe that. Rather let people wonder who the fuck ‘Johnny’ is, and if it was actually forever.” 

“C’mon, back to bed,” he says. “Probably another long day coming tomorrow.” 

“Yeah,” she yawns. 

He’s about to glitch off when she grabs his arm. “Don’t go yet,” she whispers. “Don’t want to be alone.” 

There’s no objection in him, and he looks hard for one. So he just nods and lies down next to her. The inches between them feel like miles when she faces him. Her blinks grow longer and longer, but she keeps opening her eyes to check if he’s still there. It seems like every night goes this way, these days. It’s a pretty serious thing to share a brain and body, but somehow sharing a bed still seems too intimate… and scary how easy it is. Whatever this odd thing they have is, it comes naturally now. 

“Not goin’ anywhere,” he reassures.

She finally closes her eyes. 

Johnny stays for the time it takes for her to fall asleep, watching over her. She tangles herself around him as she starts to drift. It’s bliss, her arm around his chest, her face buried in his neck, one of her legs snug against his. He hides a kiss in her hair, where it’ll be safe, like it will stay secretly tucked away there forever. Like maybe it will protect her. 

He sleeps, content in the knowledge that at the end of the day, in some fucked up way, they have each other. Though they’re wound up in knots across one another, though he can’t be what she deserves, she accepts him. And that’s the greatest gift anyone’s ever given him.

~*~*~*~

_"I don't wanna let you go_   
_But I can't stand to watch this_   
_I don't wanna let you know_   
_But you can read my mind_

_I feel it all the time_   
_Felt it all around you_   
_You had me under spell right from the start_   
_I don't have a telepathic heart"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, this chapter came out much softer than I expected ;-;


	3. Physical Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timestamp: Tapeworm, Chippin' In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, this chapter was an intimidating one, and it took forever to hone it into the image I had of in my head. Enjoy :)

Sunlight streams through V’s hair, the color shifted to a shining gold. It usually presents itself as a dusty hue that’s stubbornly undecided on whether she’s a blonde or a brunette. It suits her. Her form is painted in the tones between; she is composed of images of earth and sun constantly redefined by the specifics of light and shadow. It’s fitting, as she herself straddles the lines life presents to her. Kindness or cruelty, forgiveness or revenge--those are things she stakes on situation rather than lifestyle. His little merc dances across endless shades of grey, even managed to bargain between life and death itself. 

She lingers there, sitting on the windowsill of their room at the Pistis Sophia. He feels the ache in her bones, the throbbing fatigue, the sharp prod of pain in her chest. She’s worn thin, her face gone so pale that the faint freckles on her cheeks scream to be seen. 

“No,” V whispers. 

Johnny cocks his head, takes an unwilling step closer to her. 

“No, what?” 

“Not leaving yet. Think we’ll stay here another night… I want to spend a little more time staring at that ocean.” 

“V…” he starts, but she shakes her head. 

“My mind’s made up on this, Johnny. Just one night. Wanna see if it’s even possible to forget,” she waves her hand vaguely, “all of this. Relic, Arasaka… I want to remember what it’s like to just… _be.”_

He takes that as his cue to exit, seeing as how he’s a big part of all that. It stings a little if he’s honest, but it’s more than fair. Poor girl’s been through hell and then some. Her body threatens to give up the fight any day, while her mind rages forward. He should disagree, should prod her to get moving, but he doesn’t have it in him. He’s tired too, partly because he can feel her wear-and-tear, but there’s his own emotional fatigue setting in, too. Hellman, Evelyn Parker, Alt, the Voodoo Boys, the panicked run from Arasaka’s diligent eye… It’s been a lot to cope with, for both of them. 

“I’ll give you some space,” he says. The sentence’s tone comes out a lot sharper than he intends. 

V’s eyes snap up to meet his. For a fleeting second, he’s paralyzed. 

She lets out an embittered chuckle and says, “Space. Honestly, bein’ alone with my own thoughts is kinda the last thing I need right now.” 

_What do you need?_ he beckons silently, sifting through her mind for an answer that’s nowhere to be found. Even she doesn’t know and wouldn’t know how to ask for it if she did. It’s a trait they tragically share. Often they go round and round, bouncing harsh words off one another because they’d both rather chew glass than talk about the nitty-gritty of their own emotions. Talking about feelings, _needs,_ with open honesty? V reserves that privilege for others, making herself everyone else’s shoulder to cry on. Johnny takes it farther by refusing to deal with that shit at all, avoiding it like a bad ex. It’s some consolation that V’s habits of self-neglect root back to her history of undue familial responsibility—Johnny’s presence didn’t make her this way. 

The tags around her neck are there to remind him of his promise to take the fall for her, but they speak volumes more, a damned ocean of things he’ll never be able to say. That he wishes things didn’t have to be this way, that she makes him wish he could be somebody else, _someone_ _better._ Those tags remind him of the decision that he’d give her anything, everything, and that he’d better not fucking forget it. 

V’s assurance that she’d do the same—that she’d take a bullet for him—it’s terrifying. Every one of his better instincts tells him to run, push her away, say anything to get her to loosen her hold on him. But then there’s the subtle way her features soften when she looks at him lately, like she trusts him. 

Trust is a delicate thing for him, something he’s not used to receiving, and certainly not used to keeping. 

“Want me to stay?” he asks, unsure of the offer. 

“Yeah,” V breathes out. “I do. And…” Her gaze drifts to the horizon, a smile crossing her face. “I’ve never been on a roller coaster. Bet I can get that thing running.” 

“Fair enough, let’s go.” 

She offers her hand to lead him, a friendly gesture that she rescinds when she remembers he isn’t really _here._ He feels the heat rise in her cheeks when he vanishes from her sight. 

“Right. See you there,” she sighs. 

It’s odd, how there’s a feeling of… disappointment, almost, when she can’t see him standing in front of her. When she turns and realizes he’s back to lurking quietly in her head, she always sighs on a low, sad hum. He’s always with her, but he gets the impression he feels that connection more. 

V puts the thought aside to take in the smell of sea air, letting the sunrise atmosphere wash through her. She strides toward the abandoned amusement park with a sense of purpose, a deliberation to each step. 

_This body is mine. I’m still here,_ her thoughts whisper. _I’ve still got time._

* * *

V’s technical prowess is nothing short of plain sexy, if not a little scary. She moves around engines and explosives like someone with ten, twenty years more experience, like it’s what she was born for. 

She has a single-minded focus once they approach the roller coaster, smirking as she scans the carriage. 

“Ah, it’s no big thing,” she says. “Coaster ain’t seen maintenance for a couple years--just have to switch on the power and release the safety mechanisms. Structural integrity looks sound, get her some juice and this baby’ll ride like a dream. Gotta find the fuse box, generators...” 

“Not overlooking anything? Falling off this rust bucket isn’t part of my agenda,” Johnny says. 

She lays a dramatic hand on her chest and says, “You wound me, Johnny. Honestly, would it kill you to trust me for once?” 

“Alright, alright, let’s find that fuse box.” 

She makes short work of it, hopping into the carriage like an excited kid, her elation palpable. 

He must have been in his twenties the last time he did something like this, at least, maybe even a teenager. 

“Bet you’re gonna scream like a little girl,” he teases. 

“You first, pal!” 

She squints as they face the setting sun, but her giddy smile is here to stay. Adrenaline rises in his gut when the motor kicks in and the carriage stutters into motion--or is she the one feeling it? He doesn’t know anymore. 

Johnny takes a deep breath as they approach the top, only for V to rip it right out of his lungs when she grabs his wrist and raises his hand to the sky with hers. It’s the first time she’s made any attempt at physical contact, and it’s a choice made in the rush of the moment as the coaster stops at the apex of the first drop. When she laces her fingers with his, it’s like no one has ever touched him before her. He tightens his grip against hers... and they’re falling, hand in hand. 

* * *

Her body is rushing with endorphins as she drops to the motel bed, the euphoric grin still plastered on her face. 

“Fuck, that was some of the most fun I’ve ever had,” V says, breathless.

He nods and sits at the foot of the bed, basking in the excitement’s afterglow.

Johnny almost flinches when she sits up to meet his eyes. 

Perched forward on her knees, she says, “I didn’t know I could touch you.” 

“Hadn’t given it much thought,” he admits. 

There’s no forethought, no doubts, no reason to be found when he reaches to sweep her hair out of her face. It’s silk-soft as it slides between his fingers. Even if he hadn’t wanted for her touch before, he does now. 

He lets his hand fall, but V catches his wrist to press her cheek against his palm. Her sun-baked skin is warm, her eyes baring trust as she leaves herself open to him. Johnny hums on a shaky breath and strokes his thumb against her cheekbone. Her hand glides up his arm, so slow it gives him chills, settling to grip his bicep. 

“Can you feel it, when I touch you?” she asks. 

There’s such innocent curiosity in the question’s tone, in sharp contrast to the boldness she’s playing at. 

He knows she’ll stop if he says no. It’s the safer option, to tell her he’s just a ghost in this machine, an apparition in her mind. Touch, passion, emotion--that’s the one area he can protect V from certain corruption by him. His hands might as well be laced with poison, with the way he… 

The thought goes mute when she nuzzles her face into his grasp, eyes fluttering closed. Her long lashes kiss the tops of her cheeks. She’s crowding into his space now, her peaceful expression begging him to tell her. Her lips fall slack as he traces a finger over them. 

Johnny says it like the word was punched out of him, “Yes.” 

He continues, “Can’t feel anything else no matter how hard I try, like this world is out of my reach. It’s just… you.” 

V smiles again, so bright he could go blind. With his admission, she takes his hand from her cheek in favor of running her fingers across his palm. She traces each of his tattoos in little circular motions, inching her way up his arm. Goosebumps rise under her fingertips. Hours could pass and he wouldn’t notice, she’s captured him. 

When she’s content with her attempt at killing him a second time, V shifts her focus, her fingers tracing his collarbones. She looks up at him, as if giving him an opportunity to stop her. She’s asking for permission. Fuck, he wants her to eat him alive. 

Johnny tips his head down in a weak nod. She keeps going, her palms coming up to cup his face. Her touch sweeps across the lines of his jaw, ghost across his lips, traces his hairline. She’s consecrating him; it’s like the grace of her touch could make him holy. She rests her grip at the back of his neck. He reaches into her mind in vain, her thoughts held in some distant, far-off place from him.

He’s at her mercy, left wondering what’s running through her head. Johnny loses himself in it, leaning in with his gaze fixed on her lips… He doesn’t know what she wants here, what she’s trying to achieve. Is there some ulterior motive to this melody she plays for him, to the way she leans closer? 

This could change things… a lot. For better, for worse? He can’t say, so he can’t follow the path she’s laid before him. Instead, he tilts his chin and rests his forehead on hers--a gesture between rejection and surrender. She sighs against him, not quite disappointed, not quite sated either. 

They stay there like that for a bit, the city noise drowned out by the sound of shared breaths. This is the portrait of everything he was never meant to have. He can’t help but wonder if he’s ever known love at all before he tasted this. She shines a light into every dark space inside of him, tells him everywhere he’s empty, everywhere she’s steadily creeping into him, and he’s _scared._

But she takes his hand, and whispers, “Stay.” 

He’s chained to the word as he lets her pull him down to the bed. Her hand rests on top of his, scant space between them when she closes her eyes. The distance between her body and his is cavernous, shaped by the walls they still cling to. 

“Thanks, Johnny,” she whispers, the sentence masked in the rasp of exhaustion but legible. 

He’s a fucking goner. 

* * *

“Look--the other shit from last night, _maybe_ I can let that slide one day, but _this?!”_ V shouts, holding out her arm.

 _Johnny + V,_ the ink professes, words framed in a messily-sketched heart. It’s… well, honestly, he has to give himself a little credit, it’s kind of adorable but… Fuck. He’s not explaining that one--would rather gargle acid than try. 

“You’re really bringing that up again?” he snaps, “Lighten up for fuck’s sake. Y’know, the ripper thought it was--”

 _“I don’t care what the fucking ripper thought, Johnny!”_ she screams, “Don’t tell me to lighten up, this is fucking embarrassing! Gotta get this shit covered up… Fuck’s sake.” 

_Ouch._

“V, look--” 

Her eyes turn to ice on him, and she says, _“You lied to me,_ used my body to joyriding, and stuck me with the aftermath. Go to hell, Johnny! Just get out of my sight.” 

The words are venom in his veins and he deserves it. 

She cools down as the hangover dissipates over the course of the day, but her gaze toward him has lost its warmth. 

Once again, Johnny Silverhand does what he’s good at: poisons relationships, hurts the people closest to him as if he’s the crown prince of burning bridges. 

He’s back to being an estranged passenger, quietly along for the ride as she spends the day working a couple of cut-and-dry gigs. Waiting for Rogue to call, waiting for the right moment to step back into V’s routine, it drags on. It’s an uncomfortable stasis as he finds himself on the darker side of V’s relationships, holding out for the storm to pass. 

It doesn’t--not so easily, anyway. Her ire isn’t something that blows over with time. She follows through regardless, meeting with Rogue when things are set up. 

She doesn’t put on the Samurai jacket Rogue gives her, she just folds it over her arm and hangs onto it. There’s a note of sentiment in her, but it’s hollow, overshadowed by anger. 

But when she picks up his gun, there’s this soft reverence to her thoughts, no bitter edge, just… fuck, if he had to pick a word, it’d be _devotion._ He doesn’t feel worthy of that loyalty, not now. 

V holds the gun on Greyson, her hand steady. Her thoughts falter ever so loudly as the little shit yammers on. 

_“I should let him live, just to show Johnny--fuck.”_

“Might be your lucky day, spill,” she says to Grayson, “What’ve you got that could possibly interest me?” 

He points her to a shipping container, hands her the access card. 

“Funny,” she hums, “kinda people you deal with, I really wouldn’t have thought you’d be so trusting.” 

She fires, ends a man’s life with a spark steadily rising rage. 

_“Johnny’s not disposable, you motherfucker.”_

“And here I thought you’d gone soft on me,” Johnny huffs. 

“Fuck off, Johnny,” she says. The statement has bite, the usual teasing tone long gone. 

The first thing she does when she lays eyes on his car is pop the hood and start inspecting, checking everything over to ensure it’s in working order, nothing out of sorts. She’s hard on most of her gear, but she lets nothing slide when it comes to engines. 

“When you’re satisfied with the inner workings of it, I might even let you drive,” he says. 

She throws him a dirty look and slams the hood down. 

“You’re in no position to _let me_ do anything.” 

He sits in the passenger seat of the car, relishing in the feeling of riding in his Porsche again. 

She turns the music up loud and instantly switches the channel when _Chippin’ In_ comes on. V won’t look at him, her eyes stubbornly fixated forward. 

All the wrath inside of her seems to fade when she sets eyes on the oil field. She recoils at the smell of garbage and tar, shudders when the cold wind hits her skin. She shrugs the jacket on now. It’s too big, the bottom edge hanging low around her hips. It’s adorable —no, beautiful. But this is no place for beauty. 

The reality of it sinks in for both of them as she walks through the oil field. Rot and filth cling to her boots, as if trying to drag her into this mire, into the same putrid abyss he was thrown into. 

“Fuck, not like this…” she says on a faltering breath. “Nobody deserves this.” 

All the anger she’s been holding tight melts away. She frowns at a line of graffiti that says _no future._ Apt...

His own words echo back to him now, _“Johnny Silverhand died a legend.”_

If this is how legends die, no one should aspire to it. The very title is a curse, as lonely as it is empty. 

He follows V’s thoughts to avoid his own. She’s speechless at the gravity of it all. There’s an anger there too, underlining it, but it’s not toward him so much as _for_ him. 

She inscribes his initials on the metal sheet. It’s now that he realizes she’s all he has. 

He half expects hollow platitudes when he asks her what she’d write on a real grave. 

Instead he receives, “The guy who saved my life.” 

Johnny opens his hands to her, letting honesty fall free. He speaks the truth of how horrible this feels, how he fucked up _everything_. In the end, everyone he had in life left him here to rot in an unmarked grave, and _he_ _deserved it._

He tells her how it hurts to wake up missing the parts that make him whole, tells her how the awareness of her presence makes it okay again. And he reaches out toward her as his lifeline, counting her as the one thing he hasn’t ruined _yet._

His ears ring when she tells him he fucked that up too. The resentment is back, her blood coming to a boil beneath their shared flesh. 

Is there anything he can say to that? Anything that could ever make it right? 

He does the only thing he can do, he asks for a second chance. It doesn’t feel like enough—he ought to kneel at her feet and bare his soul for judgment, ought to be in awe at her smiles or the privilege of her touch, the graceless, blind fool that he is. 

“A second chance,” she says bitterly. “See, that’s what you don’t get. It’s not about chances. It’s about the fact that I _want_ to trust you. I want to believe in you, want to…” and she sighs, takes a minute to collect her words. “The problem is, you keep proving you don’t trust me. You know what the shittiest thing about the other night is? _I get it_. One last big hurrah, right? That’s what you were thinking? A party at the end of the line to go out in style?” 

“Something like that,” Johnny mutters. 

“I just want to know one thing—and don’t lie to me. Pretend you respect me for a minute and tell me, did you plan to play me for a fool all along, or was it a spur of the moment thing?” 

V looks up at him with those big green eyes, finally letting the hurt show through the anger. 

He sighs. “I thought about it, changed my mind… But I got behind the wheel and changed it again. It felt so good to be in control, to—”

“To feel like you were alive again.” 

He nods, casting his eyes to the ground. 

V chews the inside of her lip for a while, composing her thoughts. 

“I’m gonna tell you something, and I need you to trust that it’s true.” 

He meets her eyes, hanging intently for her to plant a bomb on him. 

“If you had just _told_ me you were thinking about all that, that you felt that way, I wouldn’t have said no. Hell, half the shit you did used to be a normal Friday night for me. Just would’ve liked a heads-up, at least,” V says.

“That so?” 

“Mhm. That’s why it hurts so much. When you’re willing to give someone something, but they just lie and take it without asking… it stings. Bad. I thought we were a team, thought that day at the Pistis Sophia meant something. I just wish you’d trust me enough to talk to me sometimes.” 

“I’m… sorry, V.” 

“You keep acting like I don’t know you, when you know that isn’t true, asshole.” A hint of the affectionate tone is back, but it’s laced with exhaustion. “You get your second chance, but I expect better. I’m not long for this world, I’m not going to waste the time I have letting you take advantage of me.” 

A loaded silence passes, the air of tension pressing down on him. 

“Okay,” he finally says. “And… it did mean something.” 

“Okay,” she says, solidifying it. 

She picks at a loose thread in her jeans, taking in the environment. Her thoughts grow heavier by the second. 

“So this is how legends really die,” she says. “I still can’t believe… your friends, they just left you here. Nobody looked.” 

“Said it yourself, you know me. Honestly expected them to?” 

V lurches to a stand as her voice breaks. “ _I_ would have.” 

Johnny never feels so real, so alive, as he does when she throws her arms around him. Instinct cries out to pry her off of him as he realizes he doesn’t remember the last time someone hugged him--or would even want to. V’s embrace is bone-crushing, yet she trembles against him. He hesitates, unsure of himself, but she fits in his arms like she belongs there. Her head tucked under his chin, her breath against his neck, it’s _bliss._ She’s so warm it makes him shiver. 

“I wouldn’t ever stop looking for you, Johnny,” she says. 

There’s nothing he can say that would do justice to this moment, so he just cradles the back of her head and sighs into her hair. 

Boundaries fall like crumbling towers and lines fade. Neither of them quite belong to this world, but they belong to each other.

~*~*~*~

_"Blind, I fall into the line_   
_That's waiting just to get you_   
_But I don't ever know just what we are_   
_I don't have a telepathic heart_

_Look inside my brain_   
_You know what I want before I tell you_   
_Give me the words to say to make it enough"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're enjoying this fic and want to catch some of my other content, check out [ my tumblr ](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/mayhem-flows)and [my YouTube](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCO0kXyw_12S3IubtDfkZcxA)


	4. Words of Affirmation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timestamp: Sweet Dreams, post-A Like Supreme and pre-Nocturne OP55N1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy, was this chapter intimidating, but still, it's rather special ;) 
> 
> I always thought there was a huge missed opportunity for an honest moment between these two during Sweet Dreams, so I ran with the idea. Enjoy!
> 
> (P.S. That "unresolved sexual tension" tag? Yeah, that applies most to this chapter. I regret nothing, but I'm sorry in advance 😅)

“Fucking hell, V.”

She crawls out of the water, shivering viciously. V hits the floor on her hands and knees, stark naked and soaking wet. The eyeliner smudged down her cheeks really completes the drowned-rat image as she emerges from the bathtub. 

She’s hoarse as she asks, “W-what happened?” 

“You fell for the oldest trick in the book, took it hook, line and sinker!” he spits out. “Scavs snatched you right up.” 

_“Fuck,”_ she says, flinching when she glances back at the corpse in the tub. “Biochip bring me back up?” 

Johnny scowls. “Yeah, that’s what--third time?” 

“Fuck--I can’t…” 

“Damn right you can’t! Good fucking luck getting us out of here, they took all your shit.” 

She sneers up at him. “Yeah, and where were you? You _let_ me walk right into this. Lemme guess, you were too busy going through my memories again to even notice till now? God forbid you get bored for two fucking seconds.”

Johnny scowls. “Wouldn’t be a problem if you could avoid _trying_ to get us killed. I gotta be your fucking babysitter?” 

_“Stop,”_ she gasps out, coughing. She pulls herself up to sit at the edge of the tub, forcing herself to look away from the body floating in the ice water. 

V braces herself, taking in the sight of the room. “No,” she whispers. “Not here _…_ _anywhere_ but here...” 

“What, reality hasn’t set in yet?” Johnny scoffs. “Gotta get outta here before--” 

“Johnny, _please shut up,”_ she says, covering her mouth to choke down a sob. 

His world cracks like glass. The sound of her sobs tears the anger out of him. Scavs snatched her and he didn’t protect her from it. She almost died--hell, maybe she did--and there’s still no easy way she’s getting out of here alive. The cherry on top of it all? The first thing he did was get mad because it was easier than submitting to fear. They’ve come all this way, and he’s not sure he’s changed at all, still leaning on his worst instincts. 

V’s gaze drifts off into blank space, her tone hollow as she whispers, “I was here. B-before.” 

Johnny catches a glimpse of the memory on her mind. Sandra Dorsett in this very tub, Jackie standing guard in the doorway... When the weight of it drops down on him, he doesn’t just hurt with her, but _for_ her. 

“With Jackie,” he says softly. 

She gives an absent nod and says, “It was our last gig together before the heist. We tried to sneak through, but I got so mad seeing the bodies here, I went trigger-happy. Wanted these fuckers to _pay_ for what they do to people. It was full guns-blazing, bullets flying all around… And we cleaned this place out like pros. Jack never gave me shit for flying off the handle, just a pat on the back for a job well done. Asked to borrow my car for a date with Misty… It all feels like a lifetime ago--” 

She buries her face in her hands, muffling her cries so no one hears. 

“Oh god,” she squeaks out. “I miss him. And here I am… h-here of all…” 

He’s never seen her break down. Not like this. She’s held onto her brave face through everything thus far, only shown her fear in silhouettes, because his little merc is always so strong. The shared sensation of shivering muscles and sobs choked by clenched teeth makes him claw at the seams of his digital confines. Johnny barely recognizes the girl sitting in front of him, wet hair clinging to her cheeks, that damned hollow expression painted across her face. She looks so small, so fragile, and everything about that feels wrong. Seeing her fall apart, something in him shatters. 

“Hey, hey…” he whispers, moving to kneel in front of her. 

She won’t look at him, drawing her arms around herself for warmth and modesty.

V shivers and gasps out, “It’s all so--” 

He breathes a soft _shh_ and pulls her close. She drifts limply into his arms, trembling with quick, shallow breaths against his chest. She’s shaking from head to toe. 

“I’ve got you,” Johnny whispers. “Just breathe for a sec, okay?” 

“I still can’t believe he’s gone. Why have I gotta be the one to get all these extra chances, when Jack had so much more to live for than I--” 

“Don’t say that. Don’t you ever say that,” Johnny says. 

V knots her fists in his shirt, clinging to him. 

_That’s it._ _Let me be your anchor,_ he thinks. 

It’s a long while of listening to her sniffles and shuddering breaths, running his hand up and down her back in slow, soothing strokes. The heat of her tears whispers _ours,_ a commonality of experience. Everything has changed from _you_ and _me_ to _us_ and _we,_ as she’s taken over him in return. The duality provides him with an empathy he’s never been quite able to show before. Consoling her comes easy, just offering comforting touches and letting V feel his presence. She responds to it; shaking hands steady, shallow breaths ebb to an easy flow of breath in and out. 

The tears stifle as Johnny runs his fingers down her cheek and says, “You’re gonna be okay, sunshine.” 

He smiles at V as her thoughts quiet down. “There you--” 

The sentence never has a chance to finish before Johnny finds himself centered in the eye of her mind’s storm. The moment she’s steadied herself, she kisses him. The whole world stops spinning and falls in on him. V’s mouth is stained with the taste of tobacco and still cold with droplets of ice water. She is resolute, she is certain, barriers falling to reveal a long-forsaken ache for this--for _him._ He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, doesn’t _anything,_ as he tries to grapple with the implications of it. This empyreal creature, the most stubborn woman he’s ever known, the person that’s beginning to feel like the other half of himself… And she’s kissing him. 

She pulls back, her face red with shame and defeat at his lack of reciprocation. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” she hisses. 

“Don’t.” 

He plants his hands at both sides of her face, draws her back to him. Her sharp intake of breath stings in their lungs. 

And they collide. It’s all overeager motions, the passing drag of teeth against lips, desperate clenching of fingernails into flesh, souls screaming to draw ever closer together. It’s bruising, violent, misplaced... But it’s true, it’s warm, it’s right, and _theirs._ Her breath is hot on his cheek, contrasting the frigid pallor on her skin. Her chapped lips move against his with the same fervor as a sinner’s desperate prayer on bended knee. His own movements betray pleas for a sanctity and comfort he finds here, locked against her. 

The blinding heat and rush of the moment ease like fire fading to smoke. V’s hands rest snug against the nape of his neck. Johnny softens against her as the grim reality of their situation sets in. He lingers against her lips, bargaining for just one more moment, just another second to feel her spirit overtake him like this. This is the wrong place, the wrong time, yet it seems like this is the only way it could ever be for them--choices made in dire circumstances, driven by a kick in the teeth. 

He leaves a last, chaste kiss on her mouth. She shakes her head, pulling him back in to rest her forehead on his. 

“Just one sec,” she whispers. “One more second and we’ll get the fuck outta here.” 

Johnny nods, failing to force his eyes to avoid drifting across her exposed body. 

Blood rushes up her face. 

“Oh fuck,” she says, clasping a hand over her mouth. “I’m stark fucking naked, and we were...” 

Johnny chuckles and says, “Nothing I haven’t already seen.” 

“Right, so the novelty’s worn off, has it?” she says, incredulous. 

“Mm, not just yet, but that’s a thought for another time.” 

He glances around the room, at the bloodstains on the floors and the corpse in the tub behind them. With a grimace, he adds, “And another place.” 

“No shit. Nothin’ to ruin the moment like…,” V says, shuddering, “this.” 

“Hell of a story, though. Let’s find our gear and delta the fuck outta here,” he says. 

“Mm-hmm. Maybe dispense some justice on the way out.” 

It’s been a strange day, indeed. 

* * *

They don’t talk about the kiss. It’s one step forward and two steps back as they withdraw from each other. The right moment doesn’t come and the right words are so elusive. 

At Johnny’s insistence, V sits through a check-up with Vik, who chides her to be more careful and take better care of herself. She doesn’t tell the ripper what happened, but Johnny gets the feeling he knows something is wrong. 

“More sleep and fewer cigarettes, kid,” Vik says, sending her on her way. 

Johnny gives her space as she spends the evening at home, processing the trauma with a pack of cigarettes clutched tight and the radio droning in the background. She cleans every item of clothing and every weapon in her backpack as though the scavs tarnished them, though thankfully it looks like they hadn’t found the time to root through it all yet. 

Johnny’s right there with her when a Relic malfunction flares up. One second, she’s flipping channels on the TV, the next it’s full-on hell. She doesn’t seize this time, thankfully, but it’s paralyzingly painful and seems to go on for ages. 

She gasps his name, writhing at the biochip’s torment. 

“I’m here,” he reassures, coaxing her to lie down on the couch. He steadies her, laying behind her to pull her back against his chest. He crosses his arms around her as if he could shield her from this. 

A breath of relief escapes him when the attack subsides. He’ll feel it soon, but she doesn’t need to see that. 

“V,” he says softly, “it’s time. Call Hanako.” 

She shakes her head insistently, gripping his forearm. “I’m not ready.” 

“Me neither,” he admits. “But we’re running out of time.” 

“Okay,” she sighs, sitting up. “One more thing I wanna do. I’ll call her tomorrow.” 

He grabs her wrist as she starts to walk away, holding her back from walking away. 

“Heard that before,” he says, raising an eyebrow in concern. 

V stares at him for a while, her eyes betraying the anguish she’s feeling, and finally, she says, “Tomorrow. I promise, okay? There’s just… something I’ve been thinking of doing.” 

Her mind closes up from him when she climbs onto Jackie’s bike. Whatever she’s planning, she’s not ready to share it. He waits intently as she throttles the bike to its limits on the highway. They’re headed out for the Badlands, that much is clear—the ‘why’ is a mystery. At first, he thinks she’s bound toward the Aldecaldos’ camp, but she takes a right when she should’ve gone left, and keeps making her way down the dusty highway. They’ve been riding for hours, the night growing darker around them. The bike’s vibration gradually gnaws at her. Her hands tingle, the discomfort creeping up her arms.

“V, where are we going?” he asks. 

“Almost there,” she says. “Can’t be much farther now.” 

V slows the bike down at a bend in the road and veers off into the desert, riding slow and steady as she makes her way through the rocky terrain. 

She stops at a seemingly innocuous stretch of land and sifts a blanket out of her bag. 

“Right here,” she says, stretching out the ache from the long ride. “It’s perfect.” 

“You’ve lost me,” he says, eyeing the dark desert while she lays the blanket out. 

She grabs Johnny’s hand and says, “Just come here.” 

Johnny’s still not used to how casually--and how often--she takes his hand since their time at the Pistis Sophia. He sits next to her, waiting for her to show her cards and tell him what this is all about. 

V raises her eyes to the sky and says, “Just look.” 

The sky above them is spattered with stars, clouded out by the distant city lights and a sliver of moon, but still there, ever-faithful to their place above. 

“You can’t see the stars in the city,” she says. “Too much light pollution. Still is, so it’s not much but… it’s something.” 

“Yeah,” he hums. “Never really took the time to just… look.” 

“Been a long time since I have. I wanted to see it… one last time.” 

There’s something hollow and hopeless accompanying the statement, rooted deep inside her chest. 

“V…” 

She lies down and says, “Please Johnny, I don’t wanna argue. Just wanna be here, in the moment. With you.” 

So he surrenders, lying down next to her beneath the endless skies. Her hand finds his again. Their fingers intertwine, free of the doubt and hesitation there once was. 

They don’t need words, not yet. Johnny lets his eyes roam from star to star, feeling the desert wind lap at V’s skin. 

“Got a dumb question... Promise you won’t laugh?” she asks. 

“Alright, I’ll bite. Promise.” 

A teasing grin finds its way up her face. “Kinky--didn’t say you had to promise that.” 

“Wh--aw, fuck off.” 

A light, airy giggle falls from her lips. 

“Hey, you’re the one who needs to choose your words more carefully,” she says. 

“C’mon, said you had something to ask. Out with it.” 

The smile drifts away, replaced by a pensive frown. Her gaze drifts to the sky, a long sigh falling from her lips. 

“Okay, here goes… Do you… Do you think there’s a heaven, Johnny? Or y’know, something, anything. A better place. Hell, even just a decent one…” 

He’d normally scoff at the question, but she says it like she’s been thinking about it for a long time. The question belongs to a woman scared to die, feeling the threat of the void’s embrace reaching out for her. Johnny thinks long and hard about it, running his fingers through her hair to smooth out the areas her hat frizzed up. 

“I don’t know. Didn’t exactly get the chance to find out for myself. But… For someone like you, there should be,” he murmurs. 

There’s a tremulous hush to her voice as she asks, “You really believe that? I mean, I’ve hurt people. I’ve stolen, lied, and cheated my way through Night City. I’ve _killed_ people. And I don’t regret most of it. You think there’s redemption after that?” 

“You were honest about it. Took responsibility, never denied what you are. And that’s not all you do. Hell… you give and give even when you’ve got nothing left. This whole thing’s fucked beyond belief, but you still did some good. Look at Panam and her lot, or River’s family. That counts for something. There oughta be a heaven for you, V.” 

He means what he says, believes it because he has to. She deserves something more, and if her sins can be forgiven, then maybe, _maybe_ his can too. 

“But I--” 

Johnny takes her chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning her head to face him. “Hey, look at me. Even if there isn’t, I’m gonna make sure you don’t have to find out anytime soon.” 

She chews her lip. “That means everything to me, y’know. But… I still got regrets.” 

“Pretend it’s a confessional then,” he chuckles, “C’mon, lay it on me.” 

“Okay,” she says. “For starters, I still wish I could’ve done something to save Jackie. Feels like there has to have been some other way. Then there’s the Voodoo Boys… I killed them. Didn’t even count how many, I was just so angry, wasn’t thinking straight. And… I feel really bad about Judy. I didn’t know she was looking for commitment, that she felt something real between us. Feels like I used her. Never would’ve slept with her if I’d known she was thinking it was more than it was. Didn’t mean to break her heart.” 

Johnny nods and says, “Not gonna lie, that wasn’t your finest moment. But she’s a strong kid, she’ll find her own way. And the Voodoo Boys had it coming. Just look at what they did to Evelyn Parker and god knows who else.” 

“Guess there’s no point dwelling on the past,” V says. “No idea what the future holds but…”

“But we’ll figure it out, you and me.” 

“There’s this other question gnawing at me, one we don’t have the answer to,” V says. 

He runs his hand up her wrist, tracing circles around the tattoo on her forearm, taking comfort in her recent affection for the ink… and the words it holds. 

_Hers._

_Mine._

_Ours._

He loves that tattoo a little more now that she does too. 

“What happens to you, at the end of the line, Johnny?” 

“I don’t know. Try my damnedest not to think about it, to focus on getting you out the other side. That’s all that matters.” 

“It’s not. There has to be a way we both walk out alive,” 

Johnny says, “If there is a way, we’ll find it, but listen--” 

“Just shut up for a minute,” she says, pulling herself closer to him. “When I met you, I thought you were the biggest asshole that ever lived. All I could think about was getting rid of you. But getting to know you, going through this hell together, what we’ve gained, it means something to me. Please tell me I’m not gonked to think that you and I…” 

Her eyes tip down as the sentence trails off, doubt putting a sour taste in her mouth. 

“You aren’t,” Johnny says, taking hold of her tags to reaffirm the connection and promise they represent. 

She lets out a breath of relief. There’s that feeling again, like a rope drawing taut between them, but he’s done resisting its pull, instead following it to the end. Johnny isn’t a man of words but of actions, and so he lays every word he struggles to say onto her mouth. It’s an ardent, open-lipped embrace between lost souls. Her hair falls into his face, tickling his cheek. His hand glides down her spine, resting at the small of her back to keep her close. He’s afraid she’ll somehow drift from his grasp if he lets go. This is too right and perfect to let her slip away, when it seems like his legacy is one of loss and underappreciation. So, he keeps a steady grip and kisses her like he loves her, because damn it all, _he does._ Johnny comes alive under her hands as V caresses every plane of skin she can find. Her fingers roam across him, exploring his shoulders and chest. His breath hitches in his throat as she finds an ache he’s tried to hide. She smiles against his lips. 

V breaks away with her hands in his hair, using the leverage to pull his head to the side. She descends on his neck, laying kisses down on his skin like it’s a form of worship to her, that ache rising to a searing burn for her. A soft moan escapes him, and another of the walls she put up against him in her mind falls away. 

The thought crashes into him, fierce and loud, _I need him. I always needed him._ He gets the impression she doesn’t just mean like this. 

Her hands trail down his chest… 

Down his stomach… 

Down his thighs… 

He’s got tunnel vision, the whole fucking world closing in, shaped by her. He lives beneath her skin, sees through her eyes, feels what she does. The _want_ underlining her thoughts is intoxicating, melding with his own. He wants to turn things around, to touch and kiss her just like this, but he’s paralyzed at her whim. Right now, the best he can do is keep a vice grip on her waist and try not to fly to pieces. 

They feed off one another’s desire, turning it into this unclassifiable, monolithic thing. It’s overwhelming to say the least, but he can only think “ _more.”_ She’s all too happy to oblige, driven forward by the rush she gets from his enjoyment. She nips at his pulse point, a tease before following it up with another drag of her lips beneath his ear. The gasp it elicits from him sparks her to laugh against his neck. It’s a gentle, satisfied sound. V likes to please, there’s no doubting that. Every noise that escapes him is reciprocated, answering a number of dirty musings he’d kept to himself. Her breaths grow sharp as her journeying hands reach his beltline. Johnny curses himself for dying in pants this tight. 

“Impressive, indeed,” she whispers in his ear.

_Holy hell._

In the spare second that his upstairs brain kicks in, he remembers what she taught him about responsibility. About how the only thing you ever really control is how you love the people close to you, how you protect them. 

He makes a gentle motion to grab her wrists. 

“V…” 

There’s a dismayed tremble that courses through her as she braces for rejection, because she knows. She always does, by the very nature of their situation. 

“We can’t,” he murmurs. “I can’t.” 

V laughs, a bitter sound as she tries to reconcile with the unexpected withdrawal of consent. 

She pulls away from him as shame takes root. 

“Right. Ah… my bad. Guess we weren’t on the same page after all,” she says, sitting up and bracing herself to stand and leave. “Fuck, this is embarrassing.” 

“Hold up a sec,” Johnny pleads, grasping at her arm. “Just hear me out.” 

She turns to stare in distrust for a minute, but finally nods. Johnny soothes her into his lap, trying to find the words. He holds her close, silently begging her heart not to go cold on him just yet. 

“I’m listening,” she says, her eyes searching his for a malice she doesn’t find. The tension loosens from her shoulders, just a bit. 

Johnny places a brief, gentle kiss on her lips and says, “I don’t know how things are going to go down when we reach Mikoshi, but if it’s you or me… It has to be you. That’s non-negotiable, you’re the one who walks away.”

V cups his cheek, her eyebrows knitting together ruefully. 

“That’s not fair,” she says softly. 

“This city doesn’t play fair, V. The house always wins, we both know it,” he says. He takes her tags in hand, raises them for her to see, driving the point home. “We stick to the promise I made. Your life comes first. I don’t want anything getting in the way of that.” 

“Johnny…” 

“Promise me.” 

She leans her head on his and says, “I promise. But if there’s any other way… This, _us,_ Johnny, I want this. Do you?” 

He closes his eyes and steadies himself against her. She smells like desert rain and dirty laundry masked in the scent of floral shampoo. It’s uniquely her, its familiarity bringing solace. 

“More than anything,” he says. 

She nods, her hair tickling his cheek. 

“Hey… When I said you saved my life, I didn’t just mean it in the future sense. Thought about it and… I was lost before you. I was chasing some bullshit ideal, obsessed with becoming a legend. I didn’t realize it didn’t mean a damn thing in the end. Losing Jackie, finding out I was dying, I wanted that more than ever. I wanted to do it for Jackie too, not just myself. And I then realized I just wanted to be remembered, to know that I mattered.” 

“And now?” 

She takes a deep breath and says, “Feels like I matter to you. Like that could be enough.” 

“Fuck, V, you do.” 

The lightness of her smile outshines the skies overhead. The freckles on her cheeks are constellations of their own, and they’re his favorite stars. 

She settles in close, content to let the scene lie in its newfound security. 

After a while, she laughs to herself and says, “Johnny Silverhand turns down a chance to get laid--you have changed.” 

“Fuck you too.” 

V kisses him again, and for a flash of time under these stars, everything is okay and their world isn’t ending. 

~*~*~*~

_"Don't want your star-crossed fate_   
_You are the sun, I am the full moon_   
_Don't leave me lost in vain_   
_I can be what you want"_


	5. Acts of Service

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timestamp: pre-Nocturne OP55N1, Don't Fear The Reaper, and Changes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy... This chapter is a beast, almost 5k words by itself, so buckle in. It's rather plotty. Look forward to feels, Meredith Stout rights, TWO references to Casablanca, Johnny and Lavender wreaking unhinged chaos, and... the Temperance ending ;-; Also, one of these scenes is inspired by 

“I’m just sayin’, the way you’re tying up loose ends, it’s like you expect--” 

“Worst case scenario, Johnny. Honestly, thought you’d get it, seeing as how you’re a raging pessimist,” V says, resolute in her task. 

She’s right, he’s not exactly known for his sunny outlook. But this is different. V isn’t dying and that’s a _fact,_ because it has to be. Being the death of her is too in line with the sick poetic sense wrapped around his life. This is not a Shakespearean tale and he’s beyond accepting any outcome that doesn’t have her in it. 

“Maybe I gained a little faith in you,” he mutters. 

Her hands stop, her little mission to clean up her life set aside for a minute so she can dedicate full focus to the squint she gives him. 

“Ugh, what?” 

V’s voice drips with sarcasm as she says, “Oh, just trying to figure out if my Kiroshis are glitching and I’ve been talking to someone else this whole time. Don’t quite recognize the fuckin’ sap I’m seeing.” 

Johnny waves a hand and says, “Mock all you want but don’t go spreading it around. Anyone asks, I never said that.” 

“There he is,” she says with a laugh, returning to the clothes she’s folding. “Alright, that’s the last box.” 

_“Finally.”_

“Y’know, it’s funny…,” V hums out, “Got all this shit lying around the apartment, yet the stuff that matters fits in two little boxes.” 

“That’s because you’re a pack rat. You even looked at this dump?” 

V props her hands on her hips, obstinate. “Trust me, there’s an order to the chaos--my own system and everything,” 

Johnny scoffs. “If you need an entire system to live in this trash heap, you’ve got a problem. Messy bitch.” 

“Yeah, and you’re a neat-freak bastard. We all have our flaws, cupcake.” 

With that, V sighs and makes a motion like she’s dusting off her hands. 

“One more thing,” she says. Her gaze veers toward the armory.

She steps through the doorway and takes Jackie’s set of pistols from the wall, her motions hesitant and solemn. 

She closes her eyes and takes a deep, shuddery breath. Johnny puts a hand on her shoulder, finding a bit of satisfaction when she leans into his touch. 

“You sure?” 

V nods and says, “Promised myself I’d only use these if it was life or death… Feels like this might be the time to carry ‘em, to let Jack look out for me one last time. Just in case.” 

She tucks the set securely in her backpack and leaves the apartment with the harrowed stride of a criminal marching toward the gallows.   
  


* * *

Meredith Stout, now there’s an interesting story. That one was wound tighter than a pissed off rattlesnake, with just as much venom to show for it. Thing is, V has this funny way of worming her way into people’s hearts and making them realize where they took the wrong turns in life. 

It started simply enough, with a quick and dirty meetup at the No-Tell Motel, no sticking around for pillow talk. Johnny doesn’t know whether he’s more impressed that V managed to secure that appointment or surprised that she actually followed through with the corpo-cunt. What was supposed to be a one-time fling devolved into V becoming Stout’s dirty little secret. The nights grew longer and relocated to home territory as boundaries grew thinner. Sure enough, V started cracking jokes Stout couldn’t help but snicker at, and thus she paved the way for the talking to start. She’d leave dismal confessions on V’s lips and V would respond in that soulful, shoulder-to-cry-on way of hers. Over time, the clothes stopped coming off and truth fell bare instead. Stout was trapped in Night City’s most infamous cage, having been lured by empty corporate promises of wealth and comfort. She sold her soul for the prospect of security, now she’s stuck following the carrot while living in perpetual fear of the stick. A single day can mean the difference between a rise in ranks and a bullet between the eyes. It’s no way to live, but the corps lock the door behind every entry; you go only forward, like sheep to slaughter. 

Tonight goes out to friendships built in circumstances unforeseeable by the best-laid plans. As Stout herself put it--wrong place, right time. 

Johnny watches the city lights as they flicker in the gleam of the car window. Night City is even flashier than it was in his day, but its core hasn’t changed, still the same machine. 

“Really think she’s the one?” he asks. 

“She’s the one,” V asserts. “Mer is a mess, sure, but she’s on the right path. Pretty sure she can handle it. Besides, it’ll be good for her. A little responsibility for something other than herself? It’s exactly what she needs.” 

There’s no doubt about that in V’s mind when she knocks on the apartment door. 

The routine pause between the sound of someone approaching the door and it actually opening is as expected, another hint at the constant anxiety packaged into Stout’s life. 

“V,” she says, pleasantly surprised. “Come on in, there’s--What the hell is that?” 

“Your new best friend,” V says, grinning. 

Stout turns a long frown to the cat in V’s arms. Nibbles seems to feel the tension rising in the air, squirming against V’s tight hold. 

“Look, no, no, you can’t just--” 

“C’mon, Mer, when have I ever asked anything of you? Don’t respond, cuz the answer is ‘never.’ This is my first and only favor.” 

She raises an eyebrow and scoffs, finally asking, “How long?” 

V runs her thumb across Nibbles’ head to comfort him. 

“Gonna let me in?” 

“Right, come on.” 

V doesn’t have the chance to sit down before Stout asks again, “Seriously, how long?” 

V reclines uneasily on a leather barstool and says, “That depends on how things turn out for me tomorrow. If fate’s on my side, not long. A couple days, maybe. But if not… Well, he’s uh, he’s yours.” 

Stout leans into the nervous tic of tapping her finger against her chin. Her fingers slowly stray up to her lips, tapping there now. Johnny wonders if she used to chew her nails and this is a carryover from the previous habit. 

“So it’s come to that,” she says. “You’re sure there’s nothing I can do? I can still pull a few leads and try to cobble something together on the low. I have more than a few outstanding favors.” 

“I don’t have time to grasp at straws, I’m afraid. So ‘less Militech suddenly knows something about the Secure Your Soul program, there’s nothing you can do. I’m betting that hasn’t changed since the last time we talked.” 

Stout gives a rueful shake of her head. 

“Back to the reason I came…”

“Look, V, I don’t have the time to take care of a pet in any long-term capacity, hell, I barely have time for sleep. I’m running on stims, vodka, and fucking fumes.” 

“And you’re doing it alone. Nibbles here can give you some friendly company. It’s a cat, not a child. You feed him twice a day, make sure he has water and that the doors stay closed, he’ll be happy as a clam at high tide.” 

Stout watches skeptically as V sets Nibbles down on the floor. The cat starts rubbing against her leg, tail flicking around her knees. 

“See, he likes you,” V says, smiling softly. “You two’ll get along great. Besides, remember that whole thing about only having yourself to look out for? There’s your solution.” 

An uneasy silence goes by before Stout asks, “Nibbles, huh? God, he doesn’t have special needs or weird habits, does he?” 

V grins and says, “Nah, he’s an easy little choom. Likes to sit in the laundry basket and sleep cuddled up to you. Oh, but he hates being cold and likes to watch TV.” 

“Seriously?” 

“Mhm. Loves bad daytime soaps and cheesy action movies. Reminds me of you, actually.” 

“I’m flattered,” Stout deadpans. “Fine, you suckered me in, but this is your one favor. No more freebies.” 

“Fair enough,” V says, standing up. 

Stout sighs and says, “There’s a fresh bottle of Riesling in the cabinet. Grab two glasses.” 

V shakes her head. “I can’t stay. I still got loose ends to tie up.” 

Stout shifts her legs around Nibbles awkwardly, unsure of the new presence clinging to her feet. 

She leans against the countertop and says, “God, you’re a nervy one. Gonna drop a bomb on me and run, huh, V?” 

“Kinda my style, isn’t it?” 

“Actually, sounds more like your little passenger,” Stout says. 

V gives a light laugh and says, “Another reason Johnny and I are the dynamic duo. But seriously, I’d love to stay and chat, but time’s short.” 

“So you keep telling me,” Stout says, turning her hand over to stare at her perfectly-manicured nails. 

“Mhm. Catch you later, Mer.”

Stout seizes V’s shoulder as she turns to leave. 

“V, wait.” 

V looks back at her expectantly. 

Stout’s gaze falls to the floor as she says, “You’ve been a good friend. Best I have…” 

“Please,” V says wryly, “I’m your only friend.” 

Stout raises a finger. “Not true, I have Nibbles.” 

“Damn right you do!” V says, clapping her shoulder. 

That particular elusive vulnerability V has earned from her flickers in her blue eyes. 

She puts a hand on V’s cheek and says, “If you change your mind, call. Just call.” 

The corpo stiffens on reflex when V pulls her into a tight hug, but settles into it when the evasive instinct passes. 

“Might be the last time we see each other, so do me one last favor and remember what we talked about, yeah? Live for yourself, Mer. If you can’t swing that, find someone that is worth living for. That power is in your hands, no matter what they tell you.”

Obstinance flashes across Stout’s face before she surrenders and says, “I… I’ll think about it.” 

V gives her a soft smile and says, “Good girl. Hey, Nibbles, keep a close eye on this one--she’s tricky. Cranky, too.” 

“Oh, fuck off,” Stout says, though she smiles. 

“Take good care of yourself, and him, Mer.” 

So V leaves, the shadow of her own fate cast heavily over the light she leaves in people’s lives. It’s one more reason Johnny is intent on saving her life tomorrow; the world is a cold, miserable place, but it’s a little warmer with V in it.

“Never thought I’d say it, but that Stout chick’s alright,” Johnny says. “Little high-strung and vain, maybe…” 

“She’s got a good heart buried under all that bullshit. She’ll find her own way,” V says, confident in her words. “But man, what is with you people? Everyone’s going soft on me all of a sudden. That’s _my_ thing,” V says, making her way back to the car. 

“Might be that damned mushy, saccharine love you insist on spreading around,” Johnny snarks. “It’s contagious. Just watch, you’ll ruin us all!” 

That earns him a giggle and a, “Fuck you too, Johnny,” as V settles herself in the driver’s seat. 

“Y’know, I’m gonna miss that cat,” Johnny says. 

“Me too.” 

They drive into the night, a woeful silence filling the space. It’s tough, saying goodbye to another part of the brief life they’ve managed to build together. If all goes as planned, he won’t be there to see it when V retrieves their cat. 

Misty once said cats are more in tune with the spiritual realm than humans—preposterous, he thought, but sometimes it seemed like that cat knew he’s here. When Nibbles’ gaze landed on Johnny, it didn’t feel like he was staring right through him, like he’s used to. It felt… nice, validating, even. 

The silence breaks with the sound of skidding wheels as V pulls off to the road’s shoulder. She grips the steering wheel tight to anchor herself when the Relic malfunction rolls into full swing. 

“F-fuck, just, just one more night,” she groans, weathering it with bated breath and shivers. 

Johnny reaches for her. “V, maybe we should get you home--” 

“No,” she snaps, pushing his hand away. “I’m fine, I’m fine, I just… Just g-gotta hold on a little longer. I ain’t-- _agh_ \--going down this easy.” 

She lets out a sustained sigh when it finally dwindles away, and says, “Okay. Two more stops. I can do this, goddamn it all.” 

Her wounded pride remains past the pain’s departure. V is fiercely independent, stuck on the idea of self-sufficiency. She doesn’t judge anyone asking for help, but it’s a cold day in hell when she’ll stop carrying everything on her own shoulders. For someone this used to feeling capable, physical ailment is a sharp dig into the integrity of her self-esteem. Johnny can’t blame her for getting short-tempered about it sometimes. 

Her next destination is Jackie’s garage. She’s been renting it out from Mama Welles for a week or so. He’s pretty sure she’d have let V use it for free, but V insisted on paying for the space fair and square, stubbornly noble about these kinds of things as she is. V takes care not to disturb any of Jackie’s things, ensuring it still looks like he’d only left it just yesterday, save for a few pieces of V’s own life lying around. 

She leaves the key with Jackie’s bike and tucks the two boxes from the apartment into an empty corner. Each is unceremoniously labeled “V,” with a precious few favorite items resting safely inside--weapons, clothes, knick-knacks, and so forth. 

“What’s left to do?” Johnny asks nervously, unsure of her plans. 

“You’ll see,” she sighs. 

He doesn’t like the final location one bit, bracing himself as the smell of oil wafts closer and closer in the air. 

“Why’re—” 

She raises a hand and reassures, “Not gonna be a long visit. Just something I need to do.” 

V takes the short walk toward his grave--if you want to call it that--with timid steps, breaths growing tighter as she approaches the familiar cement and sheet metal. 

Johnny really, really doesn’t want to be here again. 

“V…” 

She doesn’t respond, precise in her cryptic purpose as she kneels before the site. His stomach sinks as she starts unclasping the bracelet around her wrist. 

Her most precious possession has been faithfully wrapped around her wrist for nigh on twelve years. It’s a sturdy piece of chain her father found lying in the sand, some forgotten piece of someone that came before them. He had put a clasp on it and woven a tiny wire charm to attach to it, a simple symbol of a flower. It was her sixteenth birthday present. He taught her to weave wire for herself then, and told her to make one for every person that meant family to her. 

“That way, even if you’re lost, you always have a small bit of family with you,” he’d said. With a smile, he had gestured to the flower charm and added, “I’ve already started you off with a little symbol for myself.”

It’s one of many reasons Johnny is certain she inherited her sentimental nature from her father. 

The bracelet grew cluttered over the years and now resonates faint chimes when she moves, the quietest piece of discordant music following her. There’s a four-leaf clover for her mother and three siblings, various symbols for close clan members, a cross for Jackie and Mama Welles, and so on. Somehow, Johnny had never noticed the charm she made for him, a simple eighth-note symbol. How did he miss that moment? 

V gazes at the bracelet in her hand for a long moment before she sets it down on the sheet metal next to the inscription she’d left. _JS 2023._

“Fuck, V, you can’t seriously be…” 

She closes her eyes tight and says, “Don’t say anything. Just… let the moment lie.” 

So he does, silently pleading that she’ll explain what this is all about. Time stutters to a standstill. 

“It feels right, leaving this here. A piece of me, that even if no one knows about, it tells the world I was here. With you.” 

She smiles bitterly, her eyes wet with the threat of tears. She adds, “Do me a favor and… don’t say anything, okay? Let me have this.” 

So he doesn’t speak, sitting down next to her. She leans against him. The night wind howls through this forsaken place, offering comfortless static noise as he feels the weight of her head on his shoulder and her life in his hands.   
  


* * *

It’s early morning, the part of the day where the sun treads along the edge of the horizon but doesn’t quite light the sky. Another Relic attack crashes through the barrier of their shared sleep. V groans, sleep-dazed but quickly waking in response to the pain. She stirs, still half in, half out of consciousness. She folds in on herself, muttering incoherent curses under her breath. And fuck, Johnny can’t watch this, can’t sit here helplessly wishing he could stop the pain and let her sleep in peace for one more fucking night. 

But then, maybe he’s not so helpless. This body is responding to change, reforming around him and attacking her as a result. Her experiences have grown more present for him, the delay between stimulus and sensation growing reliably shorter with time. Maybe if he focuses hard enough… _maybe…_

So he grasps at control, directs his attention on the pain, on forcing this body to listen to him. It’s her mind that fights him. 

V mumbles, her voice thick with confusion and fright. “Johnny, w-wha…?” 

“Shh, it’s just a bad dream, baby… _Rest.”_

Johnny feels the comfort his words bring, her gentle renounce of control to the impulses he’s nudging into her thoughts on a steadfast beat, repeating, _Rest. Breathe. Surrender. Sleep._

He has control. The abrupt force of the pain hurls him back to the memory of a belt’s snap against his back. The feeling of cheap, stiff syn-leather cutting into his skin blow by blow... He can almost hear the malicious clink of the buckle, a sound nearly seventy years gone. Gone but never forgotten. Instinct _begs_ him to let go, to retreat to safety, but he will not yield. Her pain belongs to him, he is the one that deserves it. It originates with him, it’s the cost of his very presence here. He can do this. For V. 

Johnny hears her voice when he cries out, feels the weight of her body as it seizes, but her mind sleeps. She is tucked away from this agony somewhere far away, quiet, and protected. He will hold her there until the pain passes. For now, he hisses through his teeth and clenches his fists tightly. 

It _hurts,_ with a pitch and flow that lured him into a sense of relief and safety before it strikes again, each wave more brutal than the last. 

And then it stops. Johnny breathes deeply with her lungs and takes a precious few minutes to soak in the liberty in moving freely. Being able to feel the texture of the bedsheets, the coolness of the apartment’s air, it’s a better high than any drug has ever offered. 

He catches the tempting sight of the orange bottle on the windowsill... And he says, _no,_ lets go to return what is rightfully hers. 

He can’t prevent the stubborn, lingering ache and fatigue in her muscles, but he’s done something other than watch her suffer. 

It almost feels like enough. _Almost.  
  
_

* * *

  
“Let’s run through the plan one more time,” V says, moving her hands delicately over the device she’s assembling. 

“If you really wanna call it that.” 

“Well, it’s _something,”_ she says. 

“Right so, stride through the front door in style, cut through the first wave of guards, get to the elevator, bomb goes--” 

“Again, it’s not a _bomb,”_ she corrects. “It’s an enhanced-blast pocket IED, shoddily cobbled together. Not my best work, might as well have duct taped a bunch of grenades together--anyway, the blast radius on this thing should yield about thirty meters, enough to take out a room full of guards and security bots and send the rest panicking. This’ll only buy us time, because it’ll draw focus away from us heading down to the lower levels. Big boom equals a hefty chunk of security coming running for the ground floor. It’s a quick and dirty diversion so there’s fewer guards to reckon with down there. Now, there’s three problems with this idea--first, this thing catches a single bullet and we are _toast._ Second, placing it is going to be a real bitch. It’s gonna have to be carefully timed between the first and second waves of security bearing down on us. Third, when I push the button, there’s absolutely no guarantee the elevator doors will shield us from the blast. Timing is everything on this one. Not to mention there’s a thousand other ways this could still go wrong.” 

Johnny grins. “Love it already. Next, we navigate blind through the lower levels, find the mainframe, and jack Alt in to do her worst.” 

V nods. “Then it’s onward to Mikoshi. And… done,” she announces, lifting her hands up from her lethal little pet project. “What do we name it? I’m thinking George.” 

“Seriously? _George?”_

“Yeah, I dunno. The name is nothing special, and neither is this… _thing.”_

“Have a little appreciation, this baby’s going off smack in the middle of Arasaka’s lobby. That alone merits some respect.”

“Alright, so what do you suggest?” 

Johnny grins. “I’d say that makes it one sexy little lady. How ‘bout Roxanne?” 

She laughs and says, “Alright. Well, let’s you, me, and Roxanne delta before my body gets big ideas about giving up on us. Got an appointment on ‘saka’s front door.” 

Surprise, things don’t go as planned. Not that they expected it to turn out right. Gunfire rings out through the air and the enemy is pressing in close on V. 

“Fuck, there’s no way I’m getting Roxanne out there without her blowing right on top of us!” she shouts. 

“Just fucking throw it!” 

“What? I got no idea if--” 

“Fuck V, we’re dead if we don’t do something! Throw the bomb and run for the elevator!” 

“There’s no way--” 

_“V, do it, go!”_

She curses, gripping the access card tight. 

“Suck on this, corpo-rats!” 

She bellows out her best damned battle cry, and throws the backpack as far as she can, which, with cybernetically-enhanced strength and reflexes, is pretty fucking far. Johnny braces for an explosion that doesn’t come. 

“Oh thank fuck!” V hisses out, leaping into the elevator the second the doors open and taking cover to the side. “Shit, fucking _fuck_ , that thing could catch a ricochet any minute, what floor?” 

“I don’t know!” Johnny says. 

“What fucking floor? Pick one!” 

He glances at the list on the elevator and says, “Damn it, netrun--something, try that one!” 

She slams the interface and counts down from ten, calming a bit with each number. 

“...three… two… one. Boom,” she whispers, flicking the switch in her hand. 

The blast’s force is still enough to rattle the elevator, knocking V off her feet to the side. 

She laughs maniacally and says, “Holy shit, did Roxanne _ever_ pull through for us! Goddamn nova _,_ best thing I ever built!” 

“Preem shit, but c’mon, back on your feet, bask in the glory later!” 

And sure enough, it worked. Security guards scatter in all directions, leaving all but a skeleton crew left on their destination floor, a solid third of the numbers they expected. Quite the diversion indeed…

He talks her through the rest of the way as she battles both security and Relic malfunctions. The pain only sharpens her drive forward, turning her determination into a searing rage onward, fueled by the adrenaline flowing free. 

They almost make it unscathed, but Smasher attacks right as V’s guard begins to drop amid the forward trudge past brain-fried Arasaka personnel. She hits the ground so hard Johnny isn’t sure she’s getting back up. 

“V!” 

“You,” she spits, clambering to her feet. 

Flight instinct kicks in and she fucking _runs_ for it, wheezing as she darts up the stairs to buy a precious moment for reloading her iron. 

It’s the most hectic fight Johnny’s ever seen, but damn it if his little miracle merc doesn’t pull through on enough raw, unhinged _crazy_ to beat the son of a bitch. 

V is bleeding and weak as she stumbles back up to Smasher. The first thing she does is spit in his face. 

She laughs then, the very same deranged laugh she directed at him when they first met. It’s demented, it’s chilling, it’s _beautiful._

“Listen here, you sick fuck--Johnny. Silverhand. Look me in the eye, cuz I’m his own personal avenging angel. Got him right here with me, got his gun in my hand, so--”

“V, leave him! I’m more worried about you!” 

“Any last words, Smasher?” 

“I--” 

“Too bad.” 

The night’s final shot echoes across the room. Night City has one less monster tonight.   
  


* * *

Johnny cycles through the first four stages of grief in a matter of minutes. 

Denial. He’s shouting at Alt, flat-out screaming that she promised them _one thing,_ a new life for V, and she’d better suss out a way to make that happen. 

“I cannot undo the--” 

_“Then find another fucking way!”_

“Johnny, stop,” V murmurs. 

V closes in on herself, arms folded and knees tucked to her chest. 

“Damn you, Alt,” she snarls out. “You should have checked before running Soulkiller on me. You should have asked! We could have left altogether, could have… have found another way. Any other way.” 

“I could not have predicted that--” 

“Just shut up, both of you.” 

Anger. Alt presents V with an alternative, and Johnny has never hated anyone the way he hates her for putting the idea in V’s head. There’s no talking her out of it, and he _tries._

They made a deal, his life for V’s. She swore to him that if she ever had to choose between their two lives, hers was the one that mattered. 

In letting the anger free, perhaps he can shake her affection for him loose enough to sew doubt. Maybe it’ll be enough to convince her to just walk away with what she has left. Of all the things he says to V, calling her a coward is the worst. It’s the one accusation she’s never been able to tolerate. 

Johnny thinks he’s won when she snaps and punches him. He doesn’t fight back, only braces for the next strike. It doesn’t come. He wishes he could feel the rage behind the single blow, hear the thoughts in her mind. Maybe he’d find absolution in the instant her heart goes cold against him. He knows he’s wrong when V lets out a sob, shakes her head, and yanks him close. She puts her hands on his shoulders to steady him, letting her head fall against his collarbone.

Bargaining. He puts a hand on her chin, lifts her gaze to meet his, and says, “You promised. Go home, V. Call Stout, tell her--” 

V puts a finger to his lips and says, “Yeah, I know I promised. That makes me the worst kind of liar. But I also told you I’d take a bullet for you, and I. Meant. That. If this is that moment, then… I don’t regret a thing, Johnny.” 

“Not yet, but you will.” 

“No, I’d regret going back. Spending six months dying slowly, trying to seize hold of the little time I have left, _without you?_ No, not when you can have a whole life, a full one. Years, decades even, to make music, to make things right with your friends, to _live_ , and be the person you’re meant to be. If I walked away knowing you could have that when I’d be… Well, I’d feel guilty as hell every single day.” 

Depression. “There is no music in a world without you,” he whispers. He doesn’t quite mean to say it out loud, but she needs to hear it. She needs to _know._

“Sure there is. You’ll find it.” 

Acceptance doesn’t come. 

She gives a bitter smile and says, “Kiss me, as if it were the last time.” 

All the gravity of the situation, and she’s making a reference to a movie no one really remembers anymore. Somehow, it stands out as everything he loves about her, all wrapped up neatly in one little sentence. He wishes he could find it in himself to laugh, knowing her expression would shift into that one mischievous, self-satisfied smirk of hers… 

His world has never been smaller than it is now. The Johnny of yesterday wouldn’t recognize it, wouldn’t like the person he’s become, and he’s proud of that. The space he occupies in life is defined around her, lit only by her. She is the sun in his sky. 

They kiss as if it’s the end of the world, and as far as he’s concerned, it is. Her breath on his face, her hair between his fingers, her hand on his cheek--this moment is not forever, but it should be. 

She pulls away with a smile and says, “Have a beautiful life, Johnny… Fill it with music and friendship… and love. B-but... don’t forget I was here.” 

He grabs her arm when she turns toward the light at the end of the bridge, a beckoning clutch to bring her back to him.

He’s not _ready._

 _“Never,”_ he says, throwing his arms around her, grasping her so tight it makes his arms ache. “Fuck, I’m scared for you, sunshine.” 

“Me too,” she confesses on a quivering breath. Finally she grins, her tearful eyes aglow in the odd reds and blues of cyberspace, and she says, “But hey… We’ll always have Pacifica.” 

“I’m gonna limit you to two references only. No more,” he laughs. It’s habit, goddamn instinct to joke around with her. The solemnity comes back with a vengeance, though. “V, there’s another way. You can still change your mind, _please_.” 

“No, I’m certain on this.” 

“Why do you even think I’m… deserving of--” 

“Because I _love you,”_ she says, “And sometimes loving someone… means sacrifice. It’s not fair, but you do it anyway.” 

“V…” 

“I know what you’re gonna say. Please, Johnny, don’t make this harder than it has to be.” 

Off she goes, his Eurydice into the underworld… 

Johnny can’t watch what happens next, can’t bear to see her fade away. He regrets it when he looks back up and doesn’t see her standing there. She… 

She’s just… 

She’s just _gone._

His hands shake. 

“What do I do now, Alt?” 

“Simply enter the well.” 

“I know. Not what I meant.” 

Johnny doesn’t choke down the sob that comes when he lies down in the well. He lets it fall free for all of cyberspace to hear.

One of his own lyrics comes back to haunt him. 

_Fallen angels who have loved and lost._

He wakes up with a gasp and a shudder. 

~*~*~*~

 _"And you always turn away_  
 _Back to the start where I break through_  
 _You can run, you can run away_  
 _I will wait in the dark for you_  
 _Should've never felt this way_  
 _Cause you're the sun and I'm just a moon_  
 _I'm in the dark 'till you light the way_ _"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So concludes this leg of the journey. Rest assured, I won’t leave you all with broken hearts! I’ve already started work on a full-fledged sequel with more narrative cohesion, so stick around and keep an eye out for it! Finally, a huge thank you to all of my lovely readers. Your kudos and comments bring me joy 💖💖💖


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